In the poker room at the casino, a guy stopped me and asked me (once again) what I was. As always I reply awesome! (thank you NPH as Barney Stinsen on HIMYM)

He laughed of course and said, “Nahh, I mean are you Russian?”

Me: Nope.

He nodded and said, “You look really familiar.” (Gee, what an original line)
I replied that I do work in the casino and have been for several months.
He asked, “Are you from Atlanta?”
And I gave him the biggest, most excited smile I could muster up: “Actually!.. no. I’m from Orlando. You’re close! By 9 hours of driving.. AND both cities start with a vowel and end with a vowel!”

I’ve been informed that I have what others call a “unique” look. Although my hair color changes as often as the weather, my features stay relatively the same. I am often asked “What are you?” The most often asked is Italian. While I may “look” Italian (i really dont think i do) the only thing Italian is my stomach’s soul.

On an average night at the casino, I get asked once what I am. And I make them guess until they realize they never will guess correctly.

On one particularly fun-filled evening, a gentleman (ha!) who I can only describe as “SHWASTED” decided to ask me that question.

We’ve all been in one and get it. Give me a moment of your time and allow me to break down the noise contributors. Before I do this I recommend practicing some slow breathing, perhaps listen to soft music, and definitely take an excedrin.
Blaring throughout the casino (sans the poker room) is the fantastic array of music (occasionally accompanied by videos): classic rock, pop, classic pop, blues, country, hip hop, and even Christmas music.
Heavily sprinkled over the music, all 3000+ slot machines clank, as the arm is pulled and the reels spin and spin (Actually, you press a button instead of pulling an arm and the reels are on the touch-screen tablet now on the face of the slots.) Accompanied by the lulling sound of imaginary coins falling into the metal collection area (again, there are no actual coins: rather, there is a small voucher printed out with your 39 cent winnings). While we’re on these technologically advanced slots, add the old-school-video-game-music for sections of slots (ie jaws, monopoly, wizard of oz, etc).
Lightly layered over the slots is the typical hustle and bustle of the (mostly old) people complaining that their machine is broken or they need the bathroom AGAIN.

(stay with me, here)

Continuing the noise contributors, closer to my neck of the gambling woods, come the blackjack and poker players. In a feverish attempt to keep one’s cool while gambling away their children’s college funds and their grandchildren’s christmas money, felt-table players mindlessly stack and restack their chips.when the poker players habitually stack chips in a very full poker room it sounds similar to a large meadow filled with crickets (or bugs or whatever those annoying creatures are that make noises when you’re trying to sleep).
While the wasted players are blankly staring at the cards on the table, the dealers are telling them what the cards add up to, what the play is, whether you’re a winner or loser, and often slipping in some sly jest that the dumb players don’t get.
And last, but not least, come those of us in sales: Beautiful girls walking around with trays yelling “Cocktails! Drinks! Soda! Coffee!.” The cigarette girl trudges along caring a huge box always filled with “Cigarettes! Cigars! Candy!” And the icing on the cake: me! “MASSAGES! Anybody care for a massage? Massage for anyone? Massage?!”

A player yells “Yea! Over here!” I struggle to identify where the voice came from over all the noises I just described to you. So with a big smile I walk over and “Hi. Massage?”
PLAYER: “I’ll take a coffee with extra cream and sugar.”
Me: Sigh. “Sorry I don’t give coffee, but I can give you a massage with extra sugar but no cream.”

Typically the people who call me over for drinks are the old people, so they get a little rise out of that. 🙂

Like this:

As a massage therapist, what is the one subject I get asked about the most?

Happy Endings.

SIGH. If I could make that sigh bigger, it would have been.

I’m walking around the casino politely asking if anyone wants a massage (as always).
A gentleman of darker descent suggests to his friend of a more ghetto descent that he gets one. “It’ll be the best 5 minutes you’ll probably ever have,” he says. I smile and nod and explain how awesome the massages are given “right here, right now” at the table while they play blackjack. The gentleman asks me if I can do deep tissue and I reply “Sure!”
Little did I realize at the same time the ‘friend’ asked if I give happy endings. So apparently the entire table thinks I give happy endings now. When the gentleman asked if I heard what the kid said, I reply in the negative. The kid turns around and says ‘You give happy endings?’ And i reply rather harshly, “Really? REALLY? You’re going to ask for a happy ending from a massage therapist who works tableside?? Fine. Drop your pants and let’s see how a happy ending works in the middle of a casino. I can assure you you’ll get your ass kicked out of here so fast!”

((As I mentioned, it was a bit harsh)).
The gentleman says, “Now why do you think he’ll get a massage from you with the way you just talked to him?”
I reply, “Do you think I’ll actually give him a massage after the way he just talked to me?”
Gentleman: “Touche, I’ll take 5 minutes of deep tissue.”
Me: “OKAY!” 🙂

10 minutes later… the kid mutters something about me having a dirty mouth. And this time I keep my “dirty mouth” shut and the gentleman replies for me, “she doesn’t have a dirty mouth. she gives an awesome massage and you’re missing out.”

thanks, gentleman! (and I left with no tip, jerk.)

On a side note, I understand that people are ignorant of the approach on happy endings.. but seriously?? right in the middle of a casino? fugoff, is what i’d like to say.

Share this:

Like this:

An old hispanic man at the casino always smiled in that creepy way every time I walked by his poker table. One day he called me over for a massage and quietly asked “How much for a private massage?” Very loudly I replied, “What exactly is a private massage, sir?” He looked around embarrassed and said “never mind.”

Typically, that’s the end of it. But this time I think of his buddies tried to explain that you need “code words” or something. About an hour or two later I walk around and at a different poker table, the old hispanic man summoned me.

Him: “How much for the works?” (with his creepy smile.)

Me: “$9 at a Mobil Car Wash..I believe they include cleaning your undercarriage and a tri-scented foam”